off."
"It's wonderful," said Arrietty, but suddenly she thought of something. "What about all that gas coming down straight into the basket?"
"We leave it behind!" cried Pod. "Don't you see, girl—the gas is rising all the time and rising faster than the balloon's descending? I thought of that; that's why I wanted that bit of extra tube; we can turn that tube end upwards, sideways—where we like; but whichever way we turn it, the gas'll be rushing upward and we'll be dropping away from it. See what I mean? Come to think of it, we could bend the tube upward to start with and clip it to the shaft of the pen. No reason why not."
He was silent a moment, thinking this over.
"And there won't be all that much gas—not once I've sorted out the lever. You only let it out by degrees..."
During the next few days, which were very exciting, Arrietty often thought of Spiller—how deft he would have been adjusting the net as the envelope filled at the gas jet. This was Homily and Arrietty's job, tiresome pullings with hand or bone crochet hook, while Pod controlled the intake of gas; the netted canopy would slowly swell above them until the letter "i" in "Riverside Teas" had achieved its right proportion. The "equator" of the net, as Pod told them, must bisect the envelope exactly for the load ring to hang straight and keep the basket level.
Arrietty wished Spiller could have seen the first attachment of the basket by raffia bridles to the load ring. This took place on the platform of the musical box with the basket at this stage weighted down with keys.
And on that first free flight up to the ceiling when Pod, all his attention on the fountain-pen lever, had brought them down so gently, Spiller—Arrietty knew—would have prevented Homily from making the fatal mistake of jumping out of the basket as soon as it touched the floor. At terrifying speed, Pod and Arrietty had shot aloft again, hitting the ceiling with a force that nearly threw them out of the basket, while Homily—in tears—wrung her hands below them. It took a long time to descend, even with the valve wide open, and Pod was very shaken.
"You must remember, Homily," he told her gravely when, anchored once more to the musical box, the balloon was slowly deflating, "you weigh as much as a couple of Gladstone bag keys and a roll and a half of tickets. No passenger must ever attempt to leave the car or basket until the envelope is completely collapsed." He looked very serious. "We were lucky to have a ceiling. Suppose we'd been out of doors—do you know what would have happened?"
"No," whispered Homily huskily, drying her cheeks with the back of her trembling hand and giving a final sniff.
"Arrietty and me would've shot up to 20,000 feet, and that would have been the end of us..."
"Oh dear ..." muttered Homily.
"At that great height," said Pod, "the gas would expand so quickly that it would burst the canopy." He stared at her accusingly. "Unless of course, we'd had the presence of mind to open the valve and keep it open on the whole rush up. Even then, when we did begin to descend, we'd descend too quickly. We'd have to throw everything overboard—ballast, equipment, clothes, food, perhaps even one of the passengers—"
"Oh no..." gasped Homily.
"—and in spite of all this," Pod concluded, "we'd probably crash all the same!"
Homily remained silent, and after watching her face for a moment, Pod said more gently, "This isn't a joy ride, Homily."
"I know that," she retorted with feeling.
Chapter Twenty-one
But it did seem a joy ride to Arrietty when—on the twenty-eighth of March, having opened the window for the last time and left it open—they drifted slowly out into the pale spring sunshine.
The moment of actual departure had come with a shock of surprise, depending as it did on wind and weather. The night before they had gone to bed as usual, and this morning, before Mabel and Sidney had brought their breakfast, Pod, studying the ilex branch, had
"It's wonderful," said Arrietty, but suddenly she thought of something. "What about all that gas coming down straight into the basket?"
"We leave it behind!" cried Pod. "Don't you see, girl—the gas is rising all the time and rising faster than the balloon's descending? I thought of that; that's why I wanted that bit of extra tube; we can turn that tube end upwards, sideways—where we like; but whichever way we turn it, the gas'll be rushing upward and we'll be dropping away from it. See what I mean? Come to think of it, we could bend the tube upward to start with and clip it to the shaft of the pen. No reason why not."
He was silent a moment, thinking this over.
"And there won't be all that much gas—not once I've sorted out the lever. You only let it out by degrees..."
During the next few days, which were very exciting, Arrietty often thought of Spiller—how deft he would have been adjusting the net as the envelope filled at the gas jet. This was Homily and Arrietty's job, tiresome pullings with hand or bone crochet hook, while Pod controlled the intake of gas; the netted canopy would slowly swell above them until the letter "i" in "Riverside Teas" had achieved its right proportion. The "equator" of the net, as Pod told them, must bisect the envelope exactly for the load ring to hang straight and keep the basket level.
Arrietty wished Spiller could have seen the first attachment of the basket by raffia bridles to the load ring. This took place on the platform of the musical box with the basket at this stage weighted down with keys.
And on that first free flight up to the ceiling when Pod, all his attention on the fountain-pen lever, had brought them down so gently, Spiller—Arrietty knew—would have prevented Homily from making the fatal mistake of jumping out of the basket as soon as it touched the floor. At terrifying speed, Pod and Arrietty had shot aloft again, hitting the ceiling with a force that nearly threw them out of the basket, while Homily—in tears—wrung her hands below them. It took a long time to descend, even with the valve wide open, and Pod was very shaken.
"You must remember, Homily," he told her gravely when, anchored once more to the musical box, the balloon was slowly deflating, "you weigh as much as a couple of Gladstone bag keys and a roll and a half of tickets. No passenger must ever attempt to leave the car or basket until the envelope is completely collapsed." He looked very serious. "We were lucky to have a ceiling. Suppose we'd been out of doors—do you know what would have happened?"
"No," whispered Homily huskily, drying her cheeks with the back of her trembling hand and giving a final sniff.
"Arrietty and me would've shot up to 20,000 feet, and that would have been the end of us..."
"Oh dear ..." muttered Homily.
"At that great height," said Pod, "the gas would expand so quickly that it would burst the canopy." He stared at her accusingly. "Unless of course, we'd had the presence of mind to open the valve and keep it open on the whole rush up. Even then, when we did begin to descend, we'd descend too quickly. We'd have to throw everything overboard—ballast, equipment, clothes, food, perhaps even one of the passengers—"
"Oh no..." gasped Homily.
"—and in spite of all this," Pod concluded, "we'd probably crash all the same!"
Homily remained silent, and after watching her face for a moment, Pod said more gently, "This isn't a joy ride, Homily."
"I know that," she retorted with feeling.
Chapter Twenty-one
But it did seem a joy ride to Arrietty when—on the twenty-eighth of March, having opened the window for the last time and left it open—they drifted slowly out into the pale spring sunshine.
The moment of actual departure had come with a shock of surprise, depending as it did on wind and weather. The night before they had gone to bed as usual, and this morning, before Mabel and Sidney had brought their breakfast, Pod, studying the ilex branch, had
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